Our Wicked Ways
by Reidash
Summary: AU-ish. Oh look, yet another girlfriend for Fred Weasley! My shot at fanfic100. Salamandra Brooks is a fiery but humorous Gryffindor and these are a few of her adventures. There will be laughter, tears, romance and despair - but it'll be a hell of a ride.
1. The Origin Story

Title: The Origin Story

Prompt: Beginnings

Word Count: 1,067

Rating: K+ - May be changed for later chapters.

Summary: A muggle-born witch is on her way to her first year at Hogwarts.

Chronology: 1989, first year; pre-Sorting

Author's Notes: Boring stuff, yeah yeah, but I wanted to get all of this backstory out of the way first. It seemed suitable for the "Beginnings" theme: chronological order _and _order of being written. I'm very new to this fandom and haven't read all of the books so I am not 100% confident in my ability to write the canon characters correctly, but hoping to overcome that anyway. Be gentle. It's marked OC/Fred because well, it gets there _eventually _but not quite yet. I am not quite certain how I will be updating this, either; it is for my personal, informal, unofficial attempt at the fanfic100 challenge so things may be jumbled around the years to fit my muse at the time and may never be finished at all. For that purpose, I'm going to mark the time/year in these author notes before every chapter I upload. We'll see. Cheers!

Ciara Melody O'Shaunessy was the great granddaughter of a squib. How unlucky could one be to be born to a family of witches and wizards without any magical ability of her own? That was the phrase, after all – "the luck of the Irish" – when in fact, the Irish, like Ciara, were known to have absolutely _no_ luck to their names. Thankfully for her, Ciara was all too oblivious to her magical (or lack thereof) heritage and lived quite a normal life as a muggle. Making the most of the '60s, the most delving Ciara did into her magical origins was in the form of _mushrooms._ It was during a trip to Greece that she met the love of her life, Benjamin Brooks, and at the age of twenty-five, she became Mrs. Ciara Melody Brooks. Needless to say, it was a _real _trip for both of them that eleven years after their first child was born, the happy couple learned they were the parents of a witch.

They called her Salamandra with the hopes that she would be just as fiery in personality as the salamander of legend. Ciara hadn't realized it at the time, but she heard the name in an "old childrens book" – one that was actually a textbook on magical creatures her great great grandmother had left behind. And what a little spitfire she was, more of a bundle of energy than the parents had anticipated! Due to her name being hard to remember for a child, her friends would simply call her "Sally" or "Mandy" even as she got older.

Salamandra was the most gregarious girl in her class when she attended elementary school. A strong believer in honesty and integrity, Sally was sometimes _too _honest and borderlined on downright sassy when it came to speaking her mind.

"Me mum said I could be anything I want t'be," Salamandra once explained with a smile to her second grade arithmetic teacher. "I'd quite like t'be somethin' that doesn't use math very often!" In her mind, it was a perfectly valid reason for refusing to do her homework – and her free-spirited parents agreed.

A curious mind and a troublemaker by nature, Sally was admired by her peers for being brave and adventurous. Once during recess, she led a three-girl-and-two-boy team of tots into the forest. Why?

"Why? Because we don't _know _why yet! That's why we're explorin'," she kindly informed her distressed classmates. Again, her teacher wasn't quite so understanding.

It was written in the stars for Sally to be something extraordinary indeed, but not even Sally knew it until Minerva McGonagall showed up at her door in 1989.

"Hello…" Ciara answered, squinting at the aged woman in…a pointy hat. Was it October already? "Can I help you?"

"Good evening. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important. You are Mrs. Brooks, correct?" the woman responded, lips pursed not in a smile but not quite a scowl. McGonagall was simply a no-nonsense type of woman and was here on business.

"That's right, but you can call me Ciara…" the short-and-stout Irish woman replied, clutching her bathrobe tighter. "But, um, what is it I can help you with, miss…?"

"McGonagall. Minerva McGonagall. And I'm here to…well, inform you of something you don't seem to be all that aware of. Do you mind if I come in?"

"Oh, sure, make yerself at home," Ciara offered, opening the door wider to accommodate an entrance. Upon stepping in, Minerva's eyes immediately wandered to take in her surroundings, as if she were performing an inspection even before she explained her purpose. Ciara led her guest to the living room and they both occupied the couch, joining Benjamin who was already unconscious in his lounge chair, a light snore in the background. Minerva passed a scrutinizing glance his way while Ciara served tea.

"Oh, don't go mindin' me husband," Ciara snickered. "Long day."

"But of course; I understand that concept quite well." Was that a thin smile? Illusion or not, it faded quite quickly as the prim woman paused to adjust her spectacles. She cleared her throat to continue.

"This may come as quite a surprise to you, Mrs. Brooks, so it's fortunate that you are already sitting down. It's concerning your daughter…"

"Oh _no_," Ciara fretted, a sigh instantly leaving her as she made assumptions. "She didn't say _that _word again, did she? We encourage free speech in this house but—"

"It's nothing of the sort," Minerva interrupted, setting down her tea. She didn't want things to get off-track. "Your daughter is _very_ special, Mrs. Brooks. Perhaps you've noticed – small things, peculiar incidents – things that make her _different _from her peers—"

"Of course!" Ciara exclaimed, a grin crossing from ear to ear. "Sally's a natural leader; s'the Irish in her, y'see? She got it from me. Sure she gets into trouble sometimes but she makes good marks so we just say—"

"Not quite like _that_, Mrs. Brooks." Minerva paused only for a split second before retrieving the letter from her cloak's interior. Glancing it over for any folds or rips, she dubbed it tidy enough to hand over to Ciara, who simply blinked at it without a clue.

"What is this?"

"Open it, please."

Ciara did as instructed, and briefly read out loud before reducing to mumbling: "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore _Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump…?, International Confed. of Wizards…_Dear Salamandra Brooks…"

During the remaining silence, Minerva took a sip of the tea. It was quite good, but before she could finish the thought of enjoying it, Ciara appeared to lose the ability to breathe properly. Reaching to shove her husband awake, the woman shrieked.

"_Benjamin! Benjamin!_"

"Wha-?" was the gangly fellow's lethargic reply, prying his eyes open through a set of blinks.

"What is this?" Ciara practically screamed at both Minerva and her husband.

"It's just as it looks, Mrs. Brooks. Your daughter is a witch," Minerva stated frankly, hands folding in her lap.

"I'm a _witch?_" spoke a squeal of a voice from above the stairs. And when they saw the twinkle in Sally's eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks knew that this Hogwarts would become an important name in their life from that evening forward.

Salamandra was always a quick learner. After McGonagall had told her how and where to obtain the required items in the list of the Hogwarts acceptance letter, Sally was quite successful at independently wandering Diagon Alley while her parents took a tour of London. After being introduced to the wizarding world currency at Gringott's, the first thing that caught Sally's eye was what appeared to be a magical petshop. Between the choice of an owl, a frog, or a cat, naturally, Sally chose a cat – a brown-haired Abyssinian she dubbed "Mocha" was her choice, or perhaps his.

The next stop was Ollivander's Wand Shop. After a short string of failures, the wand that "chose" Sally was ten inches long, "springy," and made of Cherry wood.

"It's a very_ happy_ wand wood," Ollivander explained to the wide-eyed, eager little girl. "It's willing to work with its witch or wizard and give consistent results with, oh, anything but the Dark Arts."

"The Dark Arts?" Sally reiterated, tilting her head a bit.

"Oh, yes. You haven't heard of it, eh? Probably for the best. Forbidden magic," the old man explained. "Nasty business. I wouldn't recommend getting mixed up with it to anyone! Now, where was I? Ah—yes, this wand's core is a phoenix tail feather. It's versatile and powerful—this wand will do you well so long as you treat it well in return!"

"_Wow…_" was all that Sally could respond with, slowly forming a grin at the stick in her hands. "Thanks, Mr. Ollivander!"

Salamandra paid up and moved on. Wand, check. Magical familiar, check. She went on to purchase her books, uniform and other equipment and gathered it all up on a cart. Eventually, she reached platform 9¾ of King's Cross Station just like the rest of the young witches and wizards, though she faced the same confusion about its location as many beginners. Upon witnessing a wizard father encouraging his child to run through the entrance, however, Sally didn't hesitate in doing the impossible – running through solid wall to reach a secret platform. She was ready.

Salamandra's hair at that time was in a frizzy, dark chocolate ponytail, her stature short and stocky but with the muscles of a gal who'd played her fair share of sports. Sweatshirt and jean shorts were her attire of choice; one of the only drawbacks McGonagall mentioned was a _uniform _which consisted of a _skirt _which _appalled _Sally. Quidditch was an exciting concept, however. But this whole world was still new to Sally and there was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that she wasn't acquainted with.

Going through the aisles of the train, her eyes were saucers and her shoulders hunched. First, she saw a set of red-headed twins encouraging a fellow with wild dreadlocks to sit next to them while he was oblivious to the whoopi cushion awaiting his bottom and decided to avoid them, despite the amusing sight. The second option was two quiet, seemingly shy individuals – a boy and a girl – in another booth, sitting silently with their hands in their laps. It was the booth containing two girls already chatting up a storm that she opted to scoot into, greeting them both with a friendly smile.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello," said the blonde-haired, heavier set of the two of them. She, too, wore a smile.

"Hi there," the darker-haired, bespectacled girl replied. All smiles so far. Things were going well for Salamandra.

"I'm Salamandra. Friends call me Sally. Or Mandy. Or anything else they wish to call me, typically," she informed the two casually, not seeming to mind how long-winded her introduction might have been. The two girls looked at each other and giggled before replying.

"You're funny! I'm Yvette," said the brunette, who pointed to the other girl. "And this is Ashton."

"Nice to meet you. Am I ha-ha funny or do I act funny?" she asked quite bluntly, though smiling while she did so. Yvette Connelly and Ashton Webley learned something about Salamandra Brooks: she liked to talk.

They spoke of their origins, Quidditch, what they knew of the school, and their disinterest in boys. Yvette hoped to be sorted into Ravenclaw, while all of them agreed they'd simply hope to avoid Slytherin. Salamandra began a love affair with pumpkin pasties. There was lots of laughter and Salamandra had a feeling they would all be good friends.

The train stopped. Their adventure was only beginning.


	2. Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Title: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Prompt: Middles

Word Count: 1,917

Rating: K+

Summary: Salamandra enlists the help of the biggest little brats she knows to pick out a Christmas gift for her little brother.

Chronology: 1993, November; fifth year

Author's Notes: The second challenge! Things pick up a little bit more here. Yes, Salamandra has a little brother that I unfortunately couldn't fit into the first chapter well! I really enjoyed writing one of the later scenes in this one and I think you'll _see _which one it is without any trouble. Here there are merely hints of something between Fred and Sally, but still not even close to a romance. They're kids! Give 'em time, they'll come around—whoops, spoiler alert! As you can see, I am definitely writing these prompts in "Tarantino order" as I like to call it – even I'm not quite sure what (or rather _when) _I'll be writing next until I really sit down and start writing the prompt. Anywho, thanks to my wonderful critters (yes, that's what I'm calling you folks now) I'm progressing a bit. Enjoy!

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><p>The weekend trips to Hogsmeade always kept a smile on Salamandra's face. The weather, however, quickly caused her enthusiasm to falter. Even with her arms wrapped so tightly around her pea coat and scarf nearly strangling her, Salamandra was freezing her knickers off. Not quite literally, but she wouldn't be surprised.<p>

The winter of 1993 had been good to her, for the most part. Her parents hadn't minded that she stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays; it was always much more extravagant than any celebration they could offer. Her little brother, Murphy, wasn't quite so pleased to hear she wouldn't be joining them.

"But _Saaallyyy!_" she could imagine him pleading even through the written letter she'd received. Salamandra was fifteen and Murphy was at an age that he still adored his sister. He was too young to practice envy until he grew older and jaded; his bright-eyed bushy-tailed outlook on life was refreshing, to say the least. It figured that the sibling with the ordinary name would wind up with no magical ability of his own, but every summer when Salamandra came home, he would eagerly sit down at her feet with a twinkle in his eye and an open ear for all of her adventures to be shared. It was a shame there was a rule about underaged witches and wizards using magic at home; Sally really would have loved to show him a thing or two she learned at Hogwarts. Murphy was always practicing muggle magic tricks, so her mother told her – a fact among many that made Sally carry a cheery face more often than not.

As to not sully that wonderful relationship with her little brother before the angsty teenage stage settled in, she had already written him a letter she intended to attach to a very special gift:

_Dear Murphy,_

_ You wouldn't believe the things I've been learning at Hogwarts this year! Divination is __**so**__ cool; we look into crystal balls and predict the future and everything. I'm still learning how to do it, but as I get better, I keep seeing more glimpses of clear images – it's amazing! Pretty soon I'll be able to see the girl you marry, oooh! (This is where you're going to say "ewww!" See? Predicted the future!)_

_ I'm in a class called Care of Magical Creatures now too. The teacher, Hagrid, is the coolest bloke ever. You'd love him. He's jolly and huge – half-giant, I think – and the class is all about magical creatures, obviously! We got to meet a hippogriff, which is like a griffin (look it up if you don't know!) to you human folks, (ha-ha, just kidding) but more like a cross between an eagle and a horse. It was so cool! I really want to meet a dragon someday. Just hope I don't get burned alive! (Just kidding again, don't worry!)_

_ I'm staying at Hogwarts for the holiday because Professor Trelawney said I have great potential in Divination and she'd like to give me some special tutoring. Isn't that great? But just so you know I'm thinking of you, I thought I'd send you something __wicked__ for your Christmas present! Hope you like it!_

_ Tell mum and dad I said hi and I love them! Keep your nose clean!_

_With love,_

_Salamandra_

…now the trouble was finding the promised "something wicked" to send the kid. Nothing too conspicuous would do, of course, but Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans just wouldn't cut it. If Murphy wanted to eat something that tasted disgusting, after all, their mother's "organic" cooking usually settled that craving. This was _family _she was talking about! It had to be something special, something a little boy would never forget. If _she _were a lovably obnoxious brat of ten years, what would be the first place _she_ would go?

And so she found her way out of cold indecision and into Zonko's Joke Shop. Just a brief glance told Salamandra that there were far less bodies in this shop than Honeydukes, drawing an exhale out of her. But of course, it was inevitable that the few occupying the store included two familiar shaggy orange heads topped with matching beanies and matching grins. Instinct told her to turn around.

"Oi, Sally!" Fred was the first to greet her, …or so she _guessed_.

"Looks like we've created a monster, Freddie," George joked while nudging his double with an elbow, conveniently identifying himself and the other in the process.

"But she _does _realize that this means _war_, Georgie," Fred teased and mirrored the elbow, waggling auburn brows to Salamandra. "_Right?_"

"Oh, how _quaint!_" Sally retorted, arms crossing. "Y'think I'd make a special trip for _you_ two brats, eh?"

The twins exchanged cheeky smiles, boasting their confidence in the theory. Both shrugged.

"Of course," George said.

"We're your _favorite _brats," Fred stated shamelessly. Just as always, they _enjoyed _terrorizing Salamandra, though it wasn't always vocally. Just the other day the duo were sitting behind her in Charms class, Fred spitting small paper wads at her through a straw while George loaded up the ammo. The discreet waggle of her wand would begin to deflect them back and they left her be after that. For a while, Salamandra considered her mother's wise words of 'if a boy teases you, he probably likes you' before coming to the conclusion that Fred and George Weasley must _really _get around if that was the truth. Now she just found returning fire too entertaining to resist.

"Fellas, fellas – not in front of a lady!" she cried, covering her eyes with a grin. "Yer _egos _are showing."

Glancing down to check their zippers, Salamandra was exposed only to Fred and George Weasley's best attempts at sheepish grins.

Salamandra chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm lookin' for a gift for my little brother. The _muggle,_" she specified.

"You've come to the right place, then!" said Fred.

"Though when we use Zonko's products on _our _brothers, it ain't usually a gift…" George added, a broad smile spreading.

"Don't be silly, George. Seeing their faces when their teacups bite_ them_ is a gift – it's just for _us_!"

"_Touché_."

"Are you two gonna help me out here or _what?_" Sally interrupted their exchange, despite having to fight through a snicker to speak clearly. They _were _the experts, after all; she was willing to bet they'd be more helpful than any of the store's scarce employees. Each twin then folded his arms simultaneously, their precise unison only making it more of a challenge for Sally not to smile.

"Do you_ always _ask a fellow for help by taking a shot at his ego or is that just a special ritual you save for us?" Fred leaned forward to ask as innocently as he could muster, mouth in a sly curve of a smile.

"_Just_ for you," Sally answered, saccharine in her reply. She had been completely oblivious to the finger that wandered up to curl a brown lock of silk, the flirtatious action purely unconscious. Even the little girl who whined about having to wear a skirt grew into a young woman using her natural feminine charms to her advantage.

"At least she's honest," George guffawed, slapping hands together. "Well then, the grand tour!"

The Weasley twins showed her dungbombs and hiccough sweets and frog spawn soap and sugar quills and nose-biting teacups and many, many more products, each one coming with a story of how _they _had used them on their classmates and rivals and faculty alike.

"Filch's afternoon tea, you know—," George started.

"—he always accompanies it with sweets, so these delicious little treats gave him a breakout of hives," Fred boasted, hand flourishing toward the Hive Honey-drops. It was the ultimate testimonial!

Their originality was certainly inspiring, in the least, but every time they skipped telling a story for a certain product, Salamandra realized they were the ones that were used on _her. _Sally still considered her mother's words every now and then. She wasn't special, not from what she'd seen, but she _had _changed quite a bit over the summer. Skinny little Salamandra Brooks – she grew up, she filled out. It was certainly a step or two up visually from the stump of a tomboy she was. All she really had to do was flutter the lashes of those big brown eyes and she could have a fellow wrapped around her finger just like the hair she was toying with.

But of course, if Fred or George Weasley noticed any difference in her at all, Salamandra couldn't tell. Sure, they were friends – or something close to it – but they were just nice guys, even considering how hard of a time they gave her. The cute, popular, funny Quidditch players – it wasn't the most original thought to have a bit of a crush on them. Before she realized it, those aforementioned doe eyes locked with Fred's and she swore her heart skipped a beat.

This was new. Salamandra's gaze averted, hastily reaching for a rubber ball filled with …eyeballs? Once her actions were off of auto-pilot, she had to snort that the label read 'Eye-balls.'

"So..." Sally muttered. "Yer quite sure this doesn't contain _real _eyeballs?"

"We've never really _asked_," Fred admitted, and winked as a signal to note he was jesting. "We just assume this is what happens to the students who get _expelled_."

"You never hear about them again!" George chimed in with a grin.

"I suppose y'have a point there…" she conceded, giving the rubber ball a toss in the air before catching it again. Breaking out in a grin, she tossed it at the two of them. "I do think I _see _what you mean!"

Fred was the one to catch it. They both had the reflexes of seasoned quidditch players, but he was simply the faster one in this case. There was a proud quality in the smile that sprouted on him.

"You gotta trust us on this, Sally. We have a real _eye _for these things!" Fred followed, tossing the ball to his twin.

"These puns are getting _cornea and cornea…_" George chuckled as he caught the ball, then tossed it back to Salamandra.

The figurative pun ball back in her hands, Sally gave it a squeeze, the eyeballs bulging from within threatening to pop right out. "Yeah, I think I'll get this. It really caught me _eye._"

There was a pause before they all broke out in a snicker, only split seconds apart. It was truly a golden moment. An _eye-ball _really was a cheesy gift, but its sentimental value won her over after the memory they had just made out of it. Salamandra would have to throw in some eye-related puns as a P.S. in that letter before she owled it off to Murphy.

While she was making the purchase, Salamandra overheard Lee Jordan coming in and the twins were off before she could thank them for their help. Gathering up the gift and tightening her scarf, she was off to face the November cold again. She wouldn't lose sleep over not being able to thank them properly, but—

"Oi, Sally!" Fred called, head poked in through the store's entrance. She responded as a deer in the headlights, briefly staring at the lone twin before he spoke again.

"We'll _see _you later." Saluting her smugly with two fingers, he was off again.

—but she would certainly keep it in mind to pay them back for it later.


	3. Won't Go Home Without You

Title: Won't Go Home Without You

Prompt: Ends

Word Count: 1,636

Rating: K+

Summary: Their story had always been a comedy, but Salamandra never expected it to end as a tragedy.

Chronology: Battle of Hogwarts

Author's Notes: Fk I'm sad now. This was really hard to write, but I knew nothing else would do for the "ends" prompt. But the great thing about fanfiction? _This doesn't have to be the end forever!_

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><p>"<em>Fred!<em>"

The Irish twang of a familiar voice hit his ear and he hoped he was hearing things. Unfortunately, the brunette running into his arms was no hallucination.

"Sally?" Even though Fred had established her authenticity, he still couldn't quite believe it. Guffawing, he grasped her by the shoulders to get a look at her, gaze squinted in a search for answers. "What are you _doing _here? You're supposed to be in _Dublin! _Where it's _safe!_ You're in the middle of a _battlefield_, Sally! You—"

"Oh _shut up_," Salamandra unceremoniously interrupted him, a hand setting on each side of his neck to pull the boy into a kiss. For a moment she got the impression he wasn't quite happy to see her; that illusion shattered when his hands found their way to her form in return, drawing out the lip-lock for a moment or two further until they broke apart for air.

"…y'know I'd be _completely _content doing much less talking if you made me _shut up _like _that _more often," Fred spoke through a grin, his forehead lingering against hers and drunk off of her kiss enough to forget why he was upset. At least for a moment. "_You _should be in Dublin."

"_Please_," Salamandra chuckled. "I ain't some housewife t'be cooped up at home while the man's off at war, Fred." He wanted to protect her; she accepted that, but she wanted to protect _him _too. "Y'should know better than that. If you're fighting, I'm fighting too."

Since she worked at the joke shop since its opening, Salamandra had allowed Fred to get used to being her boss – when it was convenient enough for her to comply with. The only reason she got away with sometimes turning down his orders (though he preferred calling them "requests" to be kind) was because he was as fond of her as he was – not to mention the snogging on the sidelines. But Salamandra was well known to be as stubborn as a hippogriff with a temper to match. Fred only wanted to keep her safe, and he couldn't argue with the fact that she wanted the same for him.

"_Housewife? _Does that mean we're getting married?" he jested – if only barely. "Y'hear that, Georgie? I'm getting hitched!"

"Oh—_hi_, George," Salamandra tore herself away from Fred long enough to give the other brother a sheepish grin, receiving a good-natured wave in return.

"Oh you crazy kids. Wait until our mother hears!" George egged on. "Don't mind me. Just pretend like I'm not even here! Since you didn't have a problem snogging for a minute _anyway_," he chuckled.

"Don't mind if I do—" Fred wasted no time in drawing the (now slightly flustered) Salamandra back to him, but kept a firm grip on her shoulders. Gathering up just the _sight _of her, though, he stopped. "—but on second thought, that massive crowd of Death Eaters is kind of a turn-off. Sorry to disappoint, love, but you'll have to shut me up some more later." With that said, he reluctantly let her go, that winning smile still across his face even on the precipice of a battle breaking out.

"Fred…" Sally pursed her lips. The reality of the situation was there may not _be _a later for them. This was _war _they were talking about, no matter how much their humor downplayed the seriousness of their current standpoint. Deep brown gaze reflecting his freckled face, thinking how she may never be privileged to kiss those round cheeks of his again after today, she squeezed his sleeve.

And Fred could _feel _that negativity radiating from her. George, too; the twins had faced this reality before without her. Meeting it again caused both of their calm facades to fade for just a split second, as in sync as ever, which worried Salamandra even more.

"_Fred,_" she repeated, tone lowering.

"Alright, alright!" Fred threw his hands up in defeat of her demanding, and his arms wrapped around her smaller frame as his grin recovered. "One more for good luck."

George was left to roll his eyes and flail his hands, turning away to avoid watching his brother snogging with his girl for a good minute or two. His mind wandered to Angelina Johnson showing up and doting on him the same way. It would certainly ease his mind.

Salamandra was all too hesitant to let go of Fred now, but she knew the importance of doing so. Still, her fingertips drifted along his cheek – and he couldn't quite bear taking his hands off of her, either.

"Get to the Great Hall," Fred broke the silence. "Our mother's there. Tell her we're doing fine and she doesn't have to send anyone _else _to check on us." A knowing smirk crossed his mug. She wanted to smack it off of him for a second, but it drew a smile back out of her; he always managed that much, even with the threat of _he who shall not be named _lurking on the horizon.

"Aye, and then…?" Peering at him meekly, she hoped for the impossible: for Fred to predict the future and reassure her that everything would be fine.

"You're the one who's so good at _Divination_," he teased. "And you're asking _me_?"

"Don't know," she admitted, hand dropping to give his a tight but tender clutch. "Here's to hopin' for happily ever after."

"Fingers crossed."

Salamandra inhaled deeply, and then let out the same breath. She finally found the power to step away from him. "Fred…?"

"Sally?"

"…I…be careful." Over two years they'd been together and she still couldn't spit it out when they were in a _war. _Fred's features lit up briefly all the same, and he winked.

"I know. You too, beautiful."

Fred watched her depart until her silhouette in the dark was barely a blur. A smug look turned to his other half, who only shook his head. They returned to their watch duty.

"You alright, Freddie?" George asked, nudging his double lightly.

"Yeah," he responded, the tension in him causing the single word to come out like it was exhaled rather than spoken.

"Me too."

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><p>Everything after that had been hazy. Reality stopped working. She couldn't breathe because he <em>wasn't <em>breathing.

Salamandra hated herself because for a split second, she wanted it to be any head of red hair but _his. _Not Fred, _anyone _but her Fred. George was the first one to hear her choking on her own breaths and go over and hug her before his own tears had even stopped. And then _hers _started and just couldn't stop.

"_**No!**_" was her cry as she tore through George and past the other Weasleys and practically threw herself over Fred's unmoving form. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he so _cold? _His warmth was one of the things she loved most about him and now that was gone. Everything was gone. Why, out of the thousands of wizards and witches battling in this stupid, horrible war, did it have to be _Fred?_

"_Get up! Wake up! You stupid git! You can't be…!_" Salamandra spilled out a barrage of frets, gathering up his shirt in her fists and sobbing _desperately_ over him just as the others were. "No! _No!_"

He was smiling. Even in the face of his own death, Fred Weasley was _smiling_. He was absolutely beautiful and Salamandra couldn't help but to think this was exactly how he would have wanted to go out: surrounded by friends and family and loved ones of all kind, fighting heroically for a cause he believed in, and _smiling. _She could still _hear _him and imagined him wiping the streams of salty tears from her eyes just as he always did, saying _"Don't cry over me, beautiful~._" Salamandra was shaking.

Why did it have to be _him?_ Her first crush and her last one – Salamandra had been crazy about Fred Weasley for far longer than she would admit. Never to make her snicker discreetly in the middle of a monotonous lecture, never to spill joke after joke until she smiled when her spirits were low, never to lean over and kiss her in the middle of a restaurant no matter who was looking because he just _couldn't resist _those dimples of hers, never to be everything he was to her again. Fred Weasley had become a memory and Salamandra hadn't been able to recall the last time she felt so hollow.

This had to be a joke, right? This had to be the lowest practical joke he'd ever pulled, and he would wake up and she would slap him and kiss him and slap him again and they _would _get their happy ending, dammit – why wasn't he waking up and laughing at them all?

Nearly hysterical, her wailing reduced to shaking her head and whimpering "I _love _you, you beautiful idiot, I _love _you…" She couldn't protect him in the end. Returning to her blubbering, the frustrated little girl in Salamandra still believed that crying as loud as she could would fix all of life's problems. It was the nurturing arms of Molly Weasley that drew her into a comforting embrace, her own face still wet with despair.

"I know, dear, I know…" Molly murmured, her voice weak but _so _strong all at once. Ginny was clung to the other side of her mother's hip while the others simply seemed to rotate in their disbelief, crying over the corpse that was their beloved brother and hugging each other and crying some more.

Salamandra cried and cried, Molly patting her gently on the head every few moments until her shoulder was soaked.

Before May 2nd, 1998, Salamandra Brooks' boggart was Dolores Umbridge. On this evening, she faced her worst fear and no silly-sounding spell would spare her of it.


	4. You Make Me Sick

Title: You Make Me Sick

Prompt: Insides

Word Count: 830

Rating: K+ (Warning: GROSS BARFING)

Summary: Even witches catch the flu. And even the flu doesn't stop the Weasley boys from the sweet satisfaction of a good prank.

Chronology: 1992, September; fourth year

Author's Notes: After that last chapter, it's nice to write something silly again. Looking over the sweets at Wizarding World today made me think of this – and how Fred and George could even use the most delicious thing against their prey (for lack of a better term…) Enjoy!

Every young witch at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was living a life that muggles could only dream of. Even without the addition of magical abilities beyond most folks' imagination, Hogwarts was an exceptional school. The classes were actually _interesting_, with professors passionate and well-versed about their subjects; the meals served in the Grand Hall were fit for royalty, certainly _much _better than the slop in muggle public schools; they even had a team for all four houses in Quidditch, the thrilling sport that muggles couldn't experience at all! It was a place of dreams, and even with the uppity Slytherin or shy Ravenclaw here and there, it was quite rare to not see smiling faces at Hogwarts.

…but today was different for Salamandra Brooks. Today she was missing all of her classes, her exquisite breakfast of fruit-filled crepes and pumpkin juice was _vomited _that morning, and she was missing the Quidditch game. Quite normally, the latter fact wouldn't be so deeply devastating to Sally, spare the fact that she had made a deal with Fred and George Weasley earlier in the week to show up and cheer for them as loudly as she could manage. In return, they would call a treaty from their pranks with her as the target for a _month. _A whole _month _free of Weasley pranks and she had to go and catch the flu!

Quarantined in the hospital wing, Salamandra had been crumpled up in bed for a day and a half already after Madam Pomfrey prescribed "lots of bed-rest," only departing from her sweat-ridden sheets to use the bathroom and regurgitate whatever food Ashton and Yvette were kind enough to bring her from the Great Hall's meal time. Why was it in a school of _magic, _not _one_ witch or wizard could wand-waggle her into perfect health again? What a way to start her fourth year; only a month into classes and already she was bed-ridden! …but there was a bright side: she was able to skip out on that History of Magic test she'd been dreading.

It was about the same time that the big Quidditch game was due to start when Salamandra faded into a nap. Perhaps it was because she had them on the mind in breaking her promise, but she dreamed of the Weasley twins – and her family. Her mother was making that green swill that tasted like grass and insect spray but always seemed to cure her of _anything _that ailed her while Fred and George were sitting on her bed and joking about the grotesque scent of it.

"It smells like Hagrid's toenail clippings!" Fred exclaimed, pinching his nose.

"_Worse _than Hagrid's toenails – it smells like Snape's earwax!" George shuddered, attempting to one-up his twin.

"No, no – even worse than Snape's earwax, it smells like Snape's _hair_ wax!"

The joke was on them: Salamandra's cheerfully oblivious mother served them some of the so-called 'soup' as well and even in her dream, they didn't have it in their hearts to refuse a mother's cooking. Nice boys.

By the time she woke up, the daylight had disappeared and Salamandra was greeted by the refreshing breeze of cool evening air. The horizon was still faintly painted orange in the square of window she could see from her angle, compelling her to sit up. But something in the corner of her eye caught her attention: a small package and a letter set atop it. A curious smirk tugging at her lips, she plucked up the letter and left the package in her lap.

Sally:

You missed a good game! We won, of course.

Alicia told us you're sick so we won't hold you accountable for not holding up your end of the deal. In fact, we thought we'd take the liberty of getting you a little something to lift your spirits!

Feel better!

Fred & George

Judging by the signatures, it was all in Fred's handwriting, an observation that caused tawny brows to rise. It was a very thoughtful gesture and she briefly considered if the fever in her cheeks was just that or if the fact that Fred and George Weasley went out of their way to get her something when she was sick. Gingerly folding the paper back into its envelope, she set it back where she found it on her end table and moved on to the small package. Even if it wasn't entirely intentional, the ribbon's red hue matched her favorite color, and when she was opening the petite box she figured out it was a pastry box. Inside was a cauldron cake, base freshly dipped in a luster of chocolate and mousse tantalizingly oozing out from its core.

Salamandra's stomach _roared _at her to get that thing out of her sight. Barely having time to stuff the box back shut and drape quickly over the side of the bed, her insides spilled into the trash bin.

Oh, those boys were just _cruel._


End file.
